


Who I Really Am

by agentmoppet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Parseltongue Kink, Possessive Harry, Protective Harry, RST, UST, eighth year, parselsmut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 14:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6332662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco seems to have changed since the war, and is insisting on making amends for his actions. But he's still a Malfoy, for heaven's sake... And, it would seem, a Malfoy with a certain kink...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who I Really Am

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okaythanks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaythanks/gifts).



> Written for punkie411 :D Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope you like this! It is ever so slightly PWP, but not enough to put it as a tag.  
> Prompt: eighth year drarry where Draco goes around apologizing and makes ammends and Harry kinda falls in love with him  
> Additional requests: parselsmut, possessive Harry, Harry tops
> 
> (This is unbeta'd, but I really want to get it uploaded since I have the time right now and I never know when that fortuitous situation will occur. She says at 2am when she should be sleeping. If there are terrible issues, I will check through and edit in a couple of days.)

The sound of someone clearing their throat made Harry look up. To his surprise, it wasn’t Ron standing in front of him in the eighth year common room; it was Draco Malfoy.

Harry frowned. In the days since the start of term, they had barely exchanged two words. A civil nod had been more than enough for the two of them to agree to let the past stay where it belonged. They were here to finish their education, and after the war, petty rivalries seemed a waste of time.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked.

Malfoy’s expression was pained, but beneath it was still the same subdued air that had permeated from him since their journey on the Hogwarts Express. A slump of the shoulders, unlike the usual Malfoy arrogance, and a softening of the eyes, showing what could only be described as a sad discontent.

Not that Harry had been watching.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Several seconds passed while the words bounced around in Harry’s brain. _I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry._

“Are you Imperiused?” Harry leaned to the side so he could get a clear view behind Malfoy. He couldn’t see Seamus anywhere in view, and he couldn’t think of anyone else reckless enough to Imperius a classmate for a laugh.

Malfoy’s brows had drawn together, but there was only a hint of his usual sneer. “You’re the posterboy for a brighter future, Potter,” he said flatly. “Can you at least pretend like you have more than two braincells to rub together?”

Harry continued to stare at Malfoy, lost for words.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry about the war, Potter.” His voice was harsh, but there was no biting edge to it. There was no attack. “I’m sorry about Voldemort. I’m sorry for my choices. I’m sorry I hurt your Weasley family by letting that monster into the castle. I’m sorry for what you suffered at my family home.” He sighed. “I’m just sorry. Do you accept my apology?”

Harry’s mouth moved up and down, but no sound came out. His Weasley family? Just having Malfoy acknowledge the Weasleys with respect, and that their importance to Harry was a thing of value, was cause for shock. The rest was simply incomprehensible.

“I accept,” he said without thinking, needing to break the silence.

Malfoy nodded curtly and left the room.

 

***

 

Eighth year was proving dull. Wonderfully, blessedly dull. There were no dark wizards chasing him, no evil beings intent on his destruction. There was only friends, classes, and homework.

It took Harry three weeks until he was utterly sick of it.

Ron and Hermione were busy being a couple, which was… odd. In some ways it felt just like it had before; nothing had changed. In other ways, it was entirely different. They still bickered, Hermione still insisted on a strong study regime, and Ron still complained bitterly that he would rather be playing Quidditch or, at the very least, doing absolutely anything else.

But instead of Harry slotting seamlessly in with the other two, it felt now like he was on the outskirts. The two of them sat closer together now. Their eyes met more often than not, and frequently Harry felt like they had forgotten he was there.

Some days, he stayed in the library to study rather than going up to the eighth year common room. They never asked where he had been, or even seemed to notice how long he had stayed away.

Ginny, however, had noticed. Which was what had led him to where he was now: hiding in the restricted section beneath the invisibility cloak.

He peered through the shelves to see Ginny looking quizzically around the library, searching for him. Trying, yet again, to get him alone so they could talk. He felt like a complete pillock - he was a complete pillock. But he just wasn’t ready for the conversation yet.

_Ginny. Hi. Yeah. I’m sorry I-_

_I know I kept you waiting for… well… for a whole war. But. I’m not._

_I’m not really into-_

_No, I can’t really date you because-_

_Ginny, I’m gay._

_NO, YOU DIDN’T TURN ME GAY._

_Ginny you can’t turn someone gay. They just are._

_Look, why are we even arguing? This is in my head. Surely, we can at least avoid an argument in my head._

_I think I’m going insane._

Harry sighed and pulled the cloak tighter.

“Listen, I said I’m sorry, you philistine. Either accept with gratitude or tell me you can’t accept my apology - don’t just stand there like a ninny.”

Harry turned around in alarm. While he had been staring at Ginny, it seemed that Malfoy had chosen the entrance to the Restricted Section to have a whispered conversation with a sixth year Ravenclaw.

The Ravenclaw was, in fairness, staring at Malfoy with her mouth slightly open like she had been Stupefied standing up.

Malfoy massaged his fingers into his temple and groaned. “No, that was wrong of me. You should never insult someone if you wish your apology to be taken seriously. Let me start again.” He dropped his hand and looked the student in the eye. “I’m truly sorry that my actions during the war led to your father being seriously injured in defence of the school.”

The student - Harry thought her name might be Penelope - frowned slightly. “That’s-” she paused. “That’s noble of you,” she said carefully. She watched him for several seconds longer before continuing. “You seem sincere and you can’t possibly gain anything from my approval since my family has no social standing. So, I choose to accept, but I’ll need to take some time to consider if I can forgive you.”

Malfoy inclined his head. Harry was shocked to see that there was no sneer on his face, or any suggestion that he would argue her decision. Maybe-Penelope’s eyes went wide, but she quickly masked it when Malfoy looked up at her again. When Malfoy turned away, Harry noticed her brow furrow slightly as she watched him leave, before she shook her head and walked away.

Over the next several days, Harry noted with alarm that for the second time in his life, he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

Everywhere he looked, Malfoy was there, apologising to someone new. Seventh years, first years, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors - no one was exempt from his remorse nor his polite request for forgiveness.

Harry wasn’t the only one who noticed. Slowly whispers began to spread around the school. Most of them were unkind.

_What’s he up to?_

_Does he really think ‘sorry’ makes up for what he did?!_

But slowly, the comments from the female students began to morph into something new.

_Have you seen how sad he looks lately?_

_He didn’t mean to do any of it. He was just dragged into it by his father._

_Poor Draco._

Harry burst into the eighth year common room and strode over to the couch where Ron and Hermione were cuddling. Hermione was reading a book while Ron was sleeping on her lap, her fingers idly stroking his hair. Harry barely even noticed.

“Have you heard?” he hissed furiously.

“Heard what?” Hermione asked, looking up cautiously.

“Malfoy.” Harry looked around the room to make sure Malfoy wasn’t within earshot. “He’s apologising to everyone.”

Ron opened one eye. “Well, yeah,” he said sleepily. “You told us about it weeks ago.”

Harry made an exasperated noise. “That was when he’d only apologised to me. Now he’s doing it to everyone, and it’s making them all… I don’t know. Like him.”

Ron yawned and shut his eye again. “Well he’s got a lot to apologise for. It’ll probably take him all year.” He went silent. After a few seconds, he snored softly.

Harry turned pleadingly to Hermione, who shrugged. “Honestly I don’t see the problem. You said yourself that you thought he was genuine. So if it could make you feel kinder towards him, why is it an issue that it changes other’s opinions as well?”

“Because they’re wrong,” he muttered. “They seem to think he’s some sort of saint. That he never did any of it.” He slumped back in the armchair behind him and ran his hand through his hair. “It actually ruins his apology,” Harry said thoughtfully. “He’s apologising for what he _did_ , and they’re just turning around and saying he never did any of it. It’s like they’re not even listening to his earnest apology. And he’s not a bloody _saint_ ,” he finished with a snort.  

He looked up to see Hermione watching him shrewdly. “What does Malfoy think of it all?” she asked.

Harry blinked. “How should I know?”

“Well, there’s this thing that people do. It’s called talking. You could try it.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Talk to Malfoy? Why the hell would I do that?”

“Might make a nice change from talking about him.”

A sound that sounded suspiciously unlike a snore came from Ron’s direction, but when Harry looked down at him, he merely shifted in his sleep.

“But I can’t talk to him. We’re not friends,” Harry tried again.

Hermione sighed and turned back to her book, clearly bored of the conversation. “Well, you’re certainly not enemies anymore.” She turned the page and resumed reading.

Luna came and sat in the armchair next to Harry. Harry did a double take when he realised that the scarf around her neck wasn’t actually a scarf.

“New pet, Luna?” he asked cautiously.

“I’ve named him Bartholomew,” she said serenely, tickling the chin of the snake with a small smile.

“He’s-” Harry stared at the dead-looking eyes of the snake. “Lovely.”

“Isn’t he? Why don’t you say hello, Harry?”

Harry laughed, shifting back when the snake began to move towards him. “I can’t speak parseltongue anymore.”

“Well, not instinctively, no,” Luna agreed. “But you already know some words.”

Harry frowned at her. The snake had slithered onto his chair now and was moving slowly toward his shoulder. He debated how rude it would be to get up and stand, but regrettably settled on ‘too rude’.

“Some words? It’s not like learning Italian.” He frowned. “Is it?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She tilted her head to look at him. “No parseltongue has ever bothered to teach anyone else before. But you’ve already got a teacher.”

She looked back at Bartholomew, who was winding slowly along the back of Harry’s chair. Harry could feel him sliding along his neck.

“Say hello,” she repeated.

“Er,” Harry tried to remember if he had ever said hello in parseltongue before. Then he remembered the snake at the zoo, and the conversation that was almost imprinted on his mind. He hadn’t known he was hissing at the time, but all through second year he had thought about that conversation, and what he had said and could say. Luna was right - he could remember some things.

He hissed.

The snake halted and turned back to him. It studied him, before hissing softly back.

“He said hello!” Harry exclaimed, beaming at Luna. It warmed him to see her beaming back.

“He’s such a lovely snake, I’m sure he’ll be happy to teach you.”

“I don’t know how to ask for that, though.”

Bartholomew wound his way gently back to Harry, curling around his neck loosely for warmth.

“That’s alright.” Luna seemed unperturbed. “You can just get to know each other first, and I’m sure it will flow naturally.”

In what was one of his more surreal evenings since he had returned to Hogwarts, Harry spent the next twenty minutes hissing softly to Bartholomew while Luna sat next to him and knitted what looked like a tea cosy. Bartholomew said a lot of things that Harry couldn’t understand, but he seemed to realise this very quickly and soon he was lazily pointing his tail at things when he spoke.

When Bartholomew appeared to get tired, he uncurled himself slowly and made his way back to Luna, sliding into the sleeve of her robe and presumably going to sleep. It was strange, but Harry found the longer he talked to the snake, the more he remembered. Words he had never had occasion to say popped into his mind, and Bartholomew confirmed that they were correct. It was like the pathways were still there, even though he hadn’t used them.

Hermione was still reading, Ron sleeping, and Luna seemed intent on counting stitches. Harry wriggled around in the chair, trying to get comfortable, but eventually he gave up and went upstairs to sleep.

Sleep proved as elusive as ever, although instead of nightmares plaguing him, he was instead hounded by dreams of a familiar blond.

_“I’m sorry, Potter,” Malfoy said quietly._

_“Stop saying that,” Harry spat. “I know you’re sorry. I forgive you. Stop acting like someone you’re not.”_

_Malfoy smirked, his downcast eyes suddenly flicking up to Harry’s. He watched Harry from beneath lashes that were uncomfortably long and thick._

_Harry’s stomach gave an unexpected jolt._

_“I’m not pretending to be anything, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice low and languid. “I can’t help what people make of me.”_

_“Sure you can,” Harry shot back. “You’re making them think you’re some contrite little pawn. Like you never did anything.”_

_“I am contrite,” Malfoy said, looking up properly now and smoothing his hair back out of his eyes. “As for the rest, surely you of all people would know that the public will see what they want to see.”_

_Harry snorted. “And you’re telling me you don’t like that they see you as some innocent little boy?”_

_“Maybe you do have a brain in there, after all, Potter. Yes, I am. And since you’re asking, I much prefer to be seen the way you see me.”_

_“As a git?”_

_Malfoy’s eyes glinted. “That’s not how you see me.”_

Harry’s eyes snapped open. His limbs were tangled in the sheets and his body was covered in a sheen of sticky sweat. The dorm room was dark and silent. He had no idea what time it was, but the sound of Ron snoring peacefully told him it must be quite late.

As his heart slowly calmed, he became aware of the one painfully obvious fact that he had been trying to ignore: he was achingly hard. Silently, he drew the curtains on his bed and slid his hand down below the covers to wrap around himself. He bit his lip and began to stroke, his thumb swirling the precum across the tip and back down until he was so slick he had to cast a muffliato charm to make sure no one could hear him.

He tried to pretend there was no face hidden behind his closed eyes. That the hints of pale features and blond hair were the remnants of his dream, nothing more.

 

***

 

The next day he didn’t even bother going to the common room, knowing that Hermione and Ron would be busy, so he headed straight to the library after class. To his surprise, Hermione and Ron were already there.

Sitting with Malfoy.

He walked towards them slowly. Ron noticed him coming and pulled a face, motioning with his hand for Harry to get out while he still could.

As if Harry was going to walk away from this.

“Hey ‘Mione, Ron.” Harry dropped his bag on the desk and sat down. “Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Malfoy didn’t look up from the book he and Hermione appeared to be sharing. “So it really only applies when-”

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?” Harry asked Ron quietly.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Hermione overhead Malfoy talking about some potion in the common room, and chased after him only to find out he’s some kind of bloody expert in the potions you need to master to pass the Healer exams. So now they’re study buddies.” He glared at Malfoy.

Harry bit back a laugh. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved to no longer be the third wheel, or annoyed that Malfoy was now sitting with them.

If he was honest, annoyed wouldn’t quite be the right word. But he didn’t yet know what the correct word _would_ be.

Since there was clearly nothing strange going on with Malfoy other than his presence at their table, Harry pulled his books out of his bag and began to work.

Ron groaned. “Now I have to do it too,” he muttered, sliding his parchment and quill back in front of him.

Harry ignored Ron’s mutterings and focused on his work. There was something wholly unmotivating about returning to school work after taking down a Dark Lord, and it was days like this that made him wonder why he had even come back. He could hear Malfoy and Hermione discussing life as a Healer, and he knew that there was nothing that gave him that same ambitious drive that Hermione seemed to have.

A motion to his right caught his eye, and he looked up to see a Gryffindor fifth year at the table next to theirs looking in their direction; looking at Malfoy. Harry watched her, frowning slightly when he noticed the slightly wistful expression on her face. She flicked her hair back again - the movement that had caught his eye in the first place - and leaned further over the table, clearly trying to get Malfoy’s attention. To Harry’s alarm, she suddenly got a determined look in her eyes, stood up, and began to walk over to them.

Before he could stop himself, he stood up and intercepted her. She looked at him in surprise and not a little agitation.

“Er,” he said, feeling Ron, Hermione and Malfoy look up at him curiously. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He lowered his voice. “You’ve got ink on your face,” he muttered.

Her eyes widened and she spun around, grabbing her things and exiting the library quickly.

Harry exhaled slowly before turning around and sitting back down at the table. Three sets of eyes watched him curiously.

He shrugged. “Just being helpful,” he said without looking up.

Hermione and Malfoy went back to their conversation, but Harry could feel Ron still staring at him. He had been the only one with a clear view of the girl.

“She didn’t have ink on her face,” he whispered. “What’re you up to?”

Harry could feel his cheeks reddening, and began to stammer out a response when he was saved from answering by Luna’s arrival at their table.

“Here you all are,” she said, unloading her books onto the table and putting a bag of boiled sweets in the centre.  

“Yeah, we thought we’d treat ourselves and go somewhere colder and less comfortable,” Ron said, grabbing a handful of sweets when he was sure Madam Pince wasn’t watching.

“I hope you don’t make a habit of it,” Luna mused. “Bartholomew missed you, Harry.”

The snake slid out of Luna’s robes and straight across the table to Harry. Harry was surprised to find himself smiling at the reptile, pleased at the thought of his company.

“Hello, Bartholomew,” he hissed, wondering distractedly if parseltongue had ever before been used for something so domestic as idle chit chat.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up to see Malfoy staring at him. Harry smirked for no particular reason other than Malfoy seemed for once to be taken aback, and went back to talking to Bartholomew in soft hisses.

Malfoy stood up abruptly, his books clattering onto the table.

“I have to go,” he said, dropping everything quickly into his bag and leaving the table, not once looking back at three still seated.

Hermione watched after him, open-mouthed.

“What’d you say?” Ron asked, bewildered.

“Nothing.” Hermione shook her head. “ _He_ was in the middle of talking. Then he just stopped and stared at Harry and-” she narrowed her eyes. “Did you say something nasty?”

“Did _I_ say something nasty?” Harry shot back in alarm. “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about?” His eyes kept flicking to the door. He shifted, restless. “I’m going to go after him.” He unwound Bartholomew from his neck gently and passed him back to Luna.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Hermione warned.

“I’m not going to say anything rude,” Harry snapped, exasperated.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Hermione muttered, but Harry was in too much of a rush to notice. He grabbed his things and ran out the door after Malfoy.

“Oi, Malfoy!” he yelled when he was in the corridor, safely away from Madam Pince’s wrath.

He saw Malfoy freeze and then keep walking.

“Bloody git,” he muttered and began to run. “What was all that about?” he asked when he had caught up.

“What was _what_ about?” Malfoy refused to look at him.

“Back there.” Harry slowed until they were walking in step, and pointed back toward the library. “Why did you run off? What did I do? I thought we were past this crap.”

Malfoy laughed tonelessly. “You didn’t do anything, Potter, you-” Suddenly he stopped, leaving Harry walking for several steps more until Harry realised and turned around. “Actually, yes,” Malfoy said, stabbing his finger in the centre of Harry’s chest. “You did do something. You were hissing at that snake. Stop it. Don’t do that around me, are we clear?”

Harry stared at Malfoy in bewilderment. “No, we’re not clear. Why can’t I speak to Bartholomew around you?”

“Just because,” Malfoy snapped back, throwing his hands in the air and continuing down the corridor.

It dawned on Harry. “Oh, it gives you bad memories?” He jogged to catch up with Malfoy again.

“Bad memories? Why would it give me bad memories?” Malfoy frowned before realisation hit. “No, the Dark Lord never spoke to Nagini in front of-” He stopped again, shaking his head. “Actually, yes. That’s it. It was the worst time of my life and if you were even half the hero your ego thinks you are, you wouldn’t remind me of it.”

Harry studied Malfoy carefully. “No, that’s not it. _Is it?_ ”

Malfoy shuddered at the soft hiss coming from Harry’s mouth and came to an abrupt halt. “Stop doing that!” he yelled, his eyes panicked. “Or I swear, you little cretin, I will blast you back to-”

“Draco?” a timid voice interrupted them.

“What?!” Malfoy yelled at the seventh year girl standing in front of them.

The girl looked taken aback for a second before her eyes softened. Without warning she turned to glare at Harry.

“Is he giving you a hard time, Draco?”

Malfoy and Harry stared at the girl, open mouthed.

“Am I-?” Harry spluttered at the same time as Malfoy spat, “is he-?”

They looked at each other, faces twisted in incredulity.

Malfoy turned back to the girl and frowned. His nose was uncharacteristically wrinkled as he paused. “Why would Potter be giving me a hard time? We’ve been back at school for weeks; have you even once seen us throw a dung bomb at each other? No? Perhaps you might accede then that some of us no longer act like children?”

“Some people can’t leave the past behind them,” she said airily.

Harry wondered passingly if he could bat-bogey hex the girl and have Malfoy take the blame. Probably wasn’t worth the trouble.

Malfoy barked a laugh. “I think you’re fabricating an entirely new past, sweetheart,” he said roughly. He glanced at Potter.

Harry clenched his jaw and tried to think of a way to get the girl to leave. If only he’d seen her coming and could have intercepted her, like the girl in the library.

Malfoy raised one eyebrow and turned back to the girl. “Though if you can make Potter shut up for five seconds maybe I should walk with you more often.”

The girl’s face lit up and Harry immediately squashed the urge to remove her at all costs.

What was coming over him?

“He’s not going to walk with you,” Harry snarled, the venom in his voice surprising even him.

The girl looked taken aback before she narrowed her eyes. “Is he walking with some other girl, then?”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed. “What? Why would I be walking with another girl?”

The girl rounded on Harry fiercely. “Do you know something?”

Harry bit down the urge to laugh at the confusion on Malfoy’s face.

“Potter - translate?”

“Nothing, Malfoy,” Harry mumbled, grabbing him by the elbow and leading them both away while the girl yelled after him - something about tracking him down later. “Forget about her.”

“Was she in full possession of her faculties? She didn’t look like an idiot.”

“She is,” Harry replied. “The biggest kind.”

They reached the intersection and Harry turned away from Malfoy. “See you,” he said without looking back.

Malfoy paused before yelling after him. “No more parseltongue, or I’ll hex you.”

“ _Bye, Malfoy,_ ” Harry hissed back, turning in time to catch Malfoy’s reaction: a sharp intake of breath, and Harry swore he could see a  flush rising along Malfoy’s neck.

Very strange.

 

***

 

Harry rested his forehead against the wall in the shower and took a moment to consider just how utterly fucked he was.

Completely, was the word that came to mind.

In the week since Malfoy had first sat with them in the library - something that now appeared to be a regular occurrence - Harry had tried to pinpoint his exact feelings toward Malfoy. It didn’t take a genius, and Harry certainly wasn’t the hormonally confused fifteen year old he had been when he was chasing Cho and Ginny. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted to fuck Malfoy.

He groaned and thudded his head lightly against the shower wall, hoping to remove the thoughts from his mind via mild brain injury. Somewhere along the line of forgiveness and acceptance, Harry’s brain had broken down the wall in front of Malfoy that had “stupid fucking git” written on it in big letters, which left him with nothing that prevented him from noticing a number of things.

Things like the way Malfoy always smoothed his hair back out of his eyes so that it fell back in light tendrils to frame his face. Things like the arch of his back when he was stretching before a quidditch match. Things like the curve of his arse when he leaned forward to catch the snitch.

Harry shut his eyes and slid his hand down his body, his fingers wrapping lightly around his cock as he began to stroke himself. He was the only one in the showers; the other eighth years had long since fallen asleep. Emboldened by the knowledge he wouldn’t be interrupted, he began to speed up, whimpering faintly as he felt himself getting closer.

He no longer tried to stop the images of Malfoy from creeping into his mind. He imagined the blond standing in front of him, head tilted back beneath the water, fingers running lightly through his hair as he rinsed the shampoo free. Malfoy’s head came up and his eyes met Harry’s, one eyebrow raised in a smug expression that - at least in this particular fantasy - no longer filled Harry with anger. He dropped to his knees, grey eyes falling from Harry’s face to his cock, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“It’s two o’clock in the fucking morning. Who the fuck is having a shower?”

Harry’s jerked his hand away in a panic, looking over his shoulder as if he could see through the shower door.

Not that he needed to see; he’d recognise that drawl anywhere.

“Er, it’s me,” Harry said as he heard Malfoy turn on the shower two stalls over. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?”

The question, asked so matter of factly, surprised Harry into an honest answer. “Bad dreams.”

Malfoy gave a humorless laugh. “You and me both.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that, and Malfoy didn’t seem like he was going to say anything more. Harry wasn’t about to resume where he’d left off, so he reluctantly turned off the taps and opened the stall door.

“See you, Malfoy.”

 

***

 

“Draco, that’s brilliant!”

Harry warred with both the inner desire to correct Hermione - Malfoy was _not_ brilliant, and she was insane for suggesting it - and the need to tell her to back off, because she couldn’t possibly appreciate Malfoy’s brilliance like Harry did. And in the background of this complex and infuriating battle, he was trying with increasing difficulty not to laugh at the look of horror and disgust on Ron’s face.

Honestly, if he hadn’t already thought he was going insane, this was a sure sign.

“Snape told us this in third year, Granger,” Malfoy drawled.

“Yes, but you explain it properly instead of wiping off the instructions halfway through the lesson and docking house points from anyone who makes a mistake.”

Malfoy made a face of mock surprise. “You? Making mistakes? Surely the end of the world is nigh.”

Harry snorted as Ron faked vomiting into his textbook.

Malfoy looked up and sneered. “Witnessing an intellectual conversation for the first time, are you, Weasel?”

Before Malfoy could say anything more, they were interrupted by a strange humming that echoed through the library. Harry frowned, thinking the tune was awfully familiar, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Ron burst out laughing and pointed toward the doorway where Madam Pince was hurrying, her face contorted in rage. “They’ve started early.”

The five pink love hearts floated into the library, hovering well above Madam Pince’s head and flying neatly out of the way of her carefully aimed _finite incantatems._   

Harry stared in horror as the hearts paused briefly before coming straight for their table. This was like second year all over again; they couldn’t possibly be coming for him, could they?

The obnoxious love music that Harry had heard all the second years listening to incessantly over the wireless got louder as the hearts floated nearer. Madam Pince’s spell found aim, and one of the hearts dropped, but to Harry’s growing dread, the other four had reached the table.

“Draco,” the first heart sighed, floating down to the table in front of Malfoy. “Be my Valentine?”

The heart turned translucent, and Harry could see the backward image through it of the girl who had stopped them in the corridor the other day. His chest tightened, and he felt his blood begin to boil.

Malfoy stared at the heart, his mouth open in shock, fear in his eyes.

One by one the other hearts lowered and whispered their sentiments.

“Let me be the one to mend your heart.”

“I can keep you warm at night.”

“No one understands you like I do.”

Harry stood up abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. He fired off three quick _finite incantatems_ , the bubbles evaporating into thin air, and stood staring at the empty space, his chest heaving.

“What the bloody hell, Potter?” Malfoy finally managed to say into the stunned silence of the library.

“Oh, fuck off, Malfoy,” Harry snapped.

He grabbed his bag and books, and marched to the door, side stepping a furious Madam Pince along the way. He heard Malfoy yelling after him, but he didn’t stop.

Even as he heard Malfoy’s quick footsteps behind him, he refused to turn around.

“What the hell was that about?” Malfoy snapped.

When Harry refused to stop, Malfoy grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to turn around.

“What?” Harry shot back, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second as logic and good sense slowly caught up with him.

“Why the hell did you burst my Valentines?”

“Because they were fucking stupid.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I know that,” he snarled. “But that shouldn’t bother you.” One lip curled up in a sneer. “Was little Potty jealous?”

Harry shoved him and strode away, but Malfoy came after him again, grabbing both sides of his collar.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He laughed incredulously. “Poor Chosen One can’t stand to not be the centre of attention.”

“ _Get out of my way,_ ” Harry hissed, throwing a few extra nonsensical words in there to drag it out.

The effect was instantaneous, like someone had smacked Malfoy in the face.

“S-stop that.” Malfoy pushed Harry away, stuttering slightly as he spoke.

Harry’s eyes widened. He already knew it wasn’t really fear that made Malfoy respond this way when Harry spoke parseltongue, but now that he could see Malfoy react in front of him, another thought hit him.

“ _You like it.”_

Malfoy turned away, the tell tale flush rising on his cheeks. Harry grabbed him and pulled him back, pinning him to the wall.

“ _You like it when I speak parseltongue,”_ he whispered, watching Malfoy carefully. “ _It turns you on._ ”

Malfoy squirmed beneath him, trying to get away. He wasn’t trying very hard. He looked up at Harry frantically, his eyes wide and dark - almost completely black instead of their usual grey.

“Get away from me, Potter,” he muttered, pushing feebly.

Harry held him against the wall, waiting until Malfoy looked up again. “ _You don’t really want that_ .” He smiled slowly. Suddenly it seemed like his night time desires might be a little more possible than he had previously thought. “ _I think you want me to stay._ ”

Harry felt Malfoy stiffen and then suddenly relax beneath him, abandoning his attempts to leave. With his leg pressed firmly between Malfoy’s thighs, he no longer had any doubts about the effect he was having on the blond.

“ _I think you want me to fuck you._ ” 

Malfoy licked his lips, seemingly unaware of the gesture. “What are you saying, Potter?” he asked, his voice rough and quiet.

Harry pressed forward, no longer bothering to hide the reaction he was having at being so close to what he had wanted for weeks - longer, if he was honest.  

Malfoy bit his lip, indecision warring on his features; and then it seemed as if everything in him just gave up, and with a breathless moan he pushed back, the hard length of his cock rubbing against Harry’s thigh.

The buzz of nearby voices suddenly reached their ears, and with frustrated gasps on both sides they broke away in a rush, stumbling in their attempts to disguise what had nearly happened. Harry pulled his robes so they were hiding any evidence of what they’d been up to, and watched as Malfoy hurried to smooth his hair, the pink on his cheeks still clearly visible.

With one last unreadable look in his direction, Malfoy strode away.

 

***

 

Harry bit his lip, his hand moving furiously beneath the covers. With a silent cry, he arched up, spilling over into his hand at the memory of Malfoy hard and aching against him.

In the minutes after, as his heart rate slowly came back down to normal, he decided that he would either have to resolve this soon or he would well and truly lose his mind. Fortunately, it seemed like Malfoy might actually be willing. As long as Harry hadn’t scared him away.

He cleaned himself up and removed the silencing charm. He was the first one awake, but it wasn’t long until breakfast, so he got up and moved into the showers. He even managed to convince himself that he had absolutely no ulterior motive to find Malfoy alone and eager, possibly already wet from the shower and on his knees, waiting for Harry. No ulterior motive whatsoever.

And he certainly wasn’t disappointed when the showers turned out to be empty.

When he stepped out of the eighth year common room, he felt an icy trickle of fear roll through him as a familiar head of red hair turned the corner. He backed quickly into the common room and looked for a place to hide.

He’d only just managed to duck behind an armchair when Ginny opened the portal and walked up toward the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory, a determined look on her face. He swore softly, and thanked whoever was listening that he had waited those extra few minutes before leaving.

Before he could leave the room, Malfoy walked in. He wasn’t alone.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Malfoy asked warily.

Harry peeked over the edge of the chair to see Parvati Patil looking Malfoy up and down with an expression that Harry instantly disliked.

“Do you have a Valentine’s date for Hogsmeade?” she asked, her voice taking on a quiet lilt.

“No.” The wariness in Malfoy’s tone had amped up to blatant mistrust. “Nor am I looking for one. Listen, Patil-”

“I just think that it would be really nice,” she said softly, reaching out to take Malfoy’s hand. “We could get to know each other. I mean, I’ve heard about what you’re doing, what you’re saying to everyone. I think it’s beautiful. It shows the real you, Draco-”

Harry’s fists clenched and he bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself interrupting.

“Okay, Patil, I’m going to stop you right there.” Malfoy pulled his hand back like it had been burned. “My apology does not show the _real me_ any more than Parkinson’s putrid love of that pathetic lump she calls a feline shows the _real her_. I refuse to cater to the image of this poor, romantic fool you seem to insist on branding me with.”

Parvati shook her head furiously. “I know that it feels like you’re being weak, but I promise you, you can let down your guard and just be who you are. No one will judge you for it.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Patil, I am a _Malfoy_.” Harry almost laughed out loud at the sneer on Malfoy’s face. “I apologise for my transgressions but I assure you there is no guard in place and I am not afraid of being judged. Now, get out of my way before I hex you.”

Harry felt a strange surge of warmth towards Malfoy; a feeling that he couldn’t identify. It messed with his head, since Malfoy had just threatened to hex a fellow student. But there was something about the cool confidence he had - the assurance that he was who he was, nothing more and nothing less. Something inside Harry felt confident that he knew exactly what Malfoy meant, although he was certain that very few people could say the same, and not only that - he liked it.

Malfoy stepped around her and walked quickly out of the door. When Harry was confident Parvati had stormed back to her room, he slipped out from behind the chair and ran out into the hallway, hoping no one else spotted him before he made it to breakfast.

 

***

 

Harry had tried to catch Malfoy’s eye across the Great Hall, but Malfoy had refused to look in his direction. He eventually gave up and resorted to pushing the bacon on his plate around aimlessly, angry and frustrated at how things were turning out.

For all he knew, Malfoy wasn’t even gay, he just had a hardcore thing for parseltongue. Which was odd when you thought about it, because if Voldemort hadn’t spoken it in front of him, then the first and only times Malfoy would have heard parseltongue would have been when Harry spoke it, and that meant-

Harry stopped his thoughts before they could lead him into dangerous, hopeful territory.

“You came down quick,” Ron said, sitting down next to Harry and dragging a plate of croissants in front of him.

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep,” Harry lied.

Ron was already too busy eating to respond, so Harry smiled at Hermione as she sat in front of them.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing her frown.

She made a face before finally speaking. “The girls are up to something, but I’m not sure what.”

“What kind of something?” Harry was having trouble imagining what kind of problem any of them could cause that would be enough to have Hermione worried.

Then he remembered Parvati, and changed his mind.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “But I found a pile of empty love potions stashed behind our trunks, and when I called them out on it they just kept giggling.”

Harry looked down at his food in alarm.

Hermione made an apologetic face. “Test your food from now on, Harry.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he muttered, just as a commotion on the other side of the Hall caught his attention.

“Patil!” a familiar voice yelled, the snarky tones replaced by a gentle yearning.

Harry turned slowly to look at Parvati, who was blushing prettily and looking like all her birthdays had come at once.

Malfoy stumbled across the hall, all eyes looking his way. He fell to his knees in front of Parvati and clasped her hands in his. “I never noticed how beautiful you are,” he said in a daze.

Harry couldn’t take any more. He stood up and searched the teachers’ table, his eyes meeting Professor McGonagall’s. Her expression was equal parts shocked and suspicious.

Harry mimed drinking a love potion. It seemed to be enough for the Professor. With a clap that sounded through the entire hall, she caught the students’ attention - even Malfoy’s, for a brief second.

“In a disappointingly typical display of Valentine’s day fervour,” she said coldly, her lips pursed, “our food has been tampered with.” She clapped her hands again and the food disappeared.

Ron yelped in horror.

“Classes suspended while the kitchens and students are investigated.” Her eyes fell on Parvati, whose mouth was open in outrage.

“We’ve been dating in secret for weeks,” she said shrilly. “How dare you suggest I gave him a love potion.”

Professor McGonagall raised her wand and whispered a long incantation. Malfoy reeled back like he’d been struck, and looked at Parvati with dawning horror.

Without a word, he leaped to his feet and ran from the hall. Students began talking and yelling all at once. In the chaos, Harry jumped up, ignoring Ron and Hermione’s questions, and followed him.

It wasn’t until they were outside the common room that he caught up with Malfoy.

“Come to gloat?” Malfoy snapped, shoving his way through the portal and collapsing into an armchair by the fire.

Harry followed him inside and sat down opposite him. “Why would I come to gloat?”

Malfoy just glared at him and didn’t answer.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “I came to see if you were alright. Git.”

“I’m fine,” Malfoy spat.

Several tense minutes passed before Malfoy gave a mock shudder and seemed to relax. “Girls,” he said, by way of explanation.

Harry choked back a laugh. “I’m sure they’re mostly good,” he suggested. “Just not when they’re trying to get you to snog them.”

“Definitely not.” Malfoy shuddered again.

A thought suddenly struck Harry. He looked around the room, trying to see if Bartholomew was nearby. He spotted the snake curled on a footrest in front of the fire.

“Bartholomew might know who else was involved,” Harry said, moving to kneel in front of the snake. “‘Cause you can bet they’re going to do it again. Hermione said there were tons of potions.”

He saw Malfoy stiffen out of the corner of his eye, but whether it was because of what Harry had just said or what he was about to do, he wasn’t sure.

“ _Do you know about the potions?_ ” he asked softly.

He heard Malfoy make a small noise, but he didn’t turn around. Bartholomew started hissing quietly back, and soon they were discussing back and forth, trying to describe who Bartholomew thought might be involved.

They had gotten just far enough for Harry to conclude that this might be a waste of time when all humans looked roughly the same to a snake - although he certainly had some names for McGonagall - before he felt hands grasp him roughly by the shoulders and force him to his feet.

“You’re doing this on purpose, you arse,” Malfoy snarled before he hauled Harry close and kissed him.

For the first few seconds, Harry was too stunned to move. It was surprisingly gentle, for all the tension Harry could feel running through the blond. Malfoy was hesitant, like he was unsure if Harry really wanted to do this.

Harry grinned against Malfoy’s mouth and kissed him roughly back, doing his best to dispel any doubt from Malfoy’s mind.

Malfoy gasped in shock, and then they were somehow making their way up the stairs and into Harry’s bed. Harry pulled the curtains closed around them, stuck them with a charm and silenced them. That was all the house-keeping he could manage before he flipped Malfoy onto his back and pinned him to the bed.

“Would you like me to be silent?” Harry murmured, running his lips across Malfoy’s neck where he could feel Malfoy’s pulse beating rapidly. “ _Or would you like me to talk?_ ”

Malfoy moaned, the sound running straight to Harry’s cock, and Harry forgot what it was he was trying to say. He buried his face in Malfoy’s neck, breathing deeply and biting down on the point where the shoulder curved upward, running his tongue across the valleys of his skin. All the while Harry explored, Malfoy’s breath grew quicker, his moans becoming gasps and pleas.

His words were so quiet Harry almost couldn’t hear him.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low as he hovered by Malfoy’s ear.

“Talk to me,” Malfoy asked again. “Please.”

“ _Of course,_ ” Harry said with a grin, and Malfoy arched back off the bed with a shout.

Forcing himself to slow down, Harry carefully began to peel the layers of clothing from in between them.

“ _This tie could be useful later,_ ” he mused as Malfoy panted beneath him. “ _But I think we’re both a bit too impatient just yet._ ”

He slid his hands underneath Malfoy’s shirt, pulling open the buttons one by one. In one smooth motion he slid both Malfoy’s shirt and robe back off his shoulders, so that Malfoy looked almost naked.

Gazing down at sight before him, it took him several breaths to regain his control, and he wondered if his eyes looked anywhere near as dark as Malfoy’s.

Malfoy sat up, letting Harry push his clothing off his shoulders completely. Harry’s hands dropped to Malfoy’s belt, his gaze never leaving Malfoy’s face.

“ _I used to think you were scrawny,_ ” Harry said, noticing that Malfoy seemed to be warring between watching him intently and dropping his eyes to what was happening below. “ _But I was wrong. You’re elegant. You’re toned. You’re beautiful._ ”

Malfoy’s breath hitched as Harry slid his belt away. Harry smirked and walked his fingers slowly back to the zipper of Malfoy’s pants. “ _I never knew how much I wanted you._ ”

He palmed Malfoy through the material, making him moan again, and then he couldn’t go slowly anymore. He slid Malfoy’s trousers off and threw them behind him, then tore off his own clothing in record time.

He no longer had any hope of being able to focus on parseltongue, but he didn’t think Malfoy cared.

With a single-minded devotion that he hadn’t known he was capable of, Harry began to run his hands, lips, and tongue over every inch of the man beneath him. In his dreams, it had been indescribable - perfect.

His dreams had been lying; reality was so much better.

He reached down and began to stroke Malfoy’s hard length, unable to keep from grinning as Malfoy’s eyes fluttered closed and he gasped in amazement.

Harry licked his lips, the first shreds of doubt entering his mind; so far it had been nothing new, except that it was someone other than himself. From here on in…

He murmured the charm he had only before used on himself and moved his fingers lower. Malfoy groaned and pressed against him, shocking Harry into a breathless moan. He wondered if Malfoy had done this before - alone or with someone else - or if he was just certain of what he liked. He bit his lip and pressed his slick fingers carefully forward, running them back and forth across the hole while he waited for Malfoy to relax.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, searching for Harry’s, and his expression was so bare that Harry was stunned almost into stopping. Every sensation of pleasure was written across his face; it made him look more vulnerable than Harry could have imagined.

“Alright?” Harry gasped, managing to speak English against all odds.

Malfoy nodded, pulling himself up onto his elbows. “Just… not sure…”

Harry smiled gently and pulled back. “How about this, then?” he asked quietly, moving himself back down the bed until he was lying between Malfoy’s thighs.

He looked up so that their eyes locked, took Malfoy in his hands, and licked slowly along the head.

Malfoy fell back against the pillows and thrust into Harry’s hand with a moan. Harry grinned and took Malfoy in his mouth, sucking carefully at first, and then harder as it became clear what Malfoy liked. He worked his mouth and tongue as his fingers moved lower once more. Instead of pressing in, he settled for rubbing them back and forth slowly, getting Malfoy used to the sensation.

From the throaty noises Malfoy was making, Harry assumed it was acceptable.

Suddenly Malfoy reached down and grabbed Harry by the hair. Harry groaned as he felt Malfoy grip him tight, looking up in time to see Malfoy throw his head back. He came with a hoarse cry, thrusting erratically into Harry’s mouth.

Harry lifted himself back onto his knees, unable to keep the grin from spreading across his face as he looked down at Malfoy spread open in front of him, his hair a mess and his expression undeniably, thoroughly fucked.

Harry palmed himself slowly, knowing he was only seconds away.

“Can I?” he asked, his eyes falling to Malfoy’s mouth.

Malfoy nodded, his eyes on Harry’s cock as Harry kneeled carefully above him. Harry wondered if Malfoy would enjoy it as much as he had - then Malfoy’s lips closed eagerly around Harry, and he couldn’t think of anything else.

He thrust roughly into Malfoy’s mouth, his orgasm building quickly. And then Malfoy’s fingers were sliding hesitantly behind him, running along his crease, slick with Malfoy’s own come, and Harry couldn’t hold back anymore. He gasped and doubled over, coming harder than he ever had on his own, before collapsing next to Malfoy on the bed.

“Fuck,” he muttered, when he thought himself capable of ordinary speech again.

Malfoy murmured in agreement, too tired to open his eyes.

Harry picked up his wand and cleaned them both up, then pulled the blankets over them. All the distant troubles of outside - the potions, Ginny - seemed far away. Feeling only slightly self conscious, he settled his arm around Malfoy’s waist and shuffled closer.

Malfoy stiffened, but Harry could feel him smiling against his cheek.

“ _I know it’s impossible,_ ” Harry said quietly, enjoying the soft moan that fell from Malfoy’s lips. “ _But I think I’m falling in love with you._ ”

He saw Malfoy’s eyes open in the darkness. He gazed across at Harry, silent and watchful.

“Sometimes I almost think I know what you’re saying,” he said quietly.

He draped his own arm across Harry’s waist, surprisingly warm in the cool night, and together they fell asleep.


End file.
